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Becoming Belgian.

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I’ve struggled with writing this piece. My problem has been trying to put a positive spin on this story. This of course wouldn’t be truthful story then, would it? The truth is I don’t need to add spin to it because it’s my experience. This wasn’t helped much by various blogs and posts advertising how wonderful my land of birth is once I arrived back in Belgium. It only went to perpetuating the feeling that I was somehow wicked and wrong to feel that resentment. It takes a massive amount of motivation to make someone change their circumstances as my little family has. I turned down two offers of an increase and an offer of my dream position in the company before they accepted the reality that I was leaving. We sold our dream house. It took us approximately two years to find our home and we sold it because we were motivated enough (in a completely negative sense) to disassemble our lives, sell everything we could, give the rest away and flee. So there we go. I was forced, through circumstance, to return briefly to my land of birth. The circumstance being the happy union of my little brother and the girl he loves. Horrors – I had to leave Belgium and I wasn’t particularly happy about it. I wasn’t looking forward to this brief excursion for two reasons.

My wife (due to some crazy Belgian red-tape) is not allowed to leave Belgian territory whilst applying for her residency.

I simply wasn’t looking forward to returning to a land I fled.

What I was looking forward to was seeing my friends and family! The flight was terrible because I was that passenger that you don’t want to sit next to. I was ill. Running nose, coughing, lightheaded and turning into a zombie sick. There was no other choice but to go though because I was flying in the cheap seats and couldn’t change or cancel the ticket without missing the wedding and losing all that money I’d paid! I deeply apologize for the zombie apocalypse I began as I’m quite sure everyone in that fast moving can-in-the-air caught what I had. In a way it was comforting to see that nothing had changed but that was also rather worrying. In Belgium I’ve seen my tax money at work. There are always refurbishments of services and alterations happening and plans underway. I believe this is good. My little brother and his (now) wife’s wedding was beautiful and exactly how I thought it’d be – tasteful and classy. I believe it matched their taste and wants perfectly and I feel honored that I was invited to attend their special day! The weather was much warmer than Belgium and visiting some of my friends and seeing my mom, dad and brothers was lovely. Beyond that, I have nothing further to say!

The Conclusion: It was good to visit because in no time at all (truth be told the moment I approached passport control) I realized that I had developed a greater allegiance and love for Belgium in the one year of my absence than I ever had for my country of birth. I have a king who was raised and bred for the express purpose. He has three masters’ degrees – no not honorary masters – he worked and studied for these and has military rank not because he’s entitled to it but because he earned it. If Belgium was attacked, it’s him I’d be aligned with. I cannot say the same for the leaders of the land of my birth. Belgium is home. Ciao for now.

This Belgian visits his land of birth. – Die Belg bezoek het vaderland.

Belgen zijn georganiseerd – this means they’re organized and do not like chaos. In practice this means they cannot handle change in routine. Even a little disruption in the normal schedule and Belgians find themselves lost.

A few months ago the road was being worked on at the train station and the busses were being re-routed to other temporary stops around the station. The poor Belgians were so put out. Even though the road was closed off with really big and obvious red and white barriers with flashing orange lights on top, the Belgians would still congregate at these bus stops. They stood there and eyeballed the busses as they rode past the barriers of the road closure, some shrugging in disbelief and others grumbling to whoever would listen. Not one of them would look about to see if there was a notice or some sort of alternative or instruction.

There was instruction, by the way, in the form of posters stuck up at the disused bus stops giving detailed instructions on where to find the temporary bus stops so you could catch the bus you needed and exactly how long this situation would continue.

This shows exactly what I’m trying to illustrate on two separate levels:

The absolute disbelief that the routine of catching the bus has changed – the unacceptance of even the slightest chaos – to the point of ignoring massive barriers in the road and the expectance that the bus will magically hop over these barriers to pick them up.

The absolute organization of the bus company by placing notices up to inform it’s clients where the new temporary bus stops are so that they won’t be inconvenienced and the expected time period of the works – which were completed exactly, EXACTLY on time. No rubble left lying around, no sign that the road had been worked on except for a brand new road.

Now that’s organized.

This love of organization impacts directly on becoming a Belgian too.

If you move to Belgium, be prepared. You will have to take mandatory courses. Even if you are a Belgian citizen and you’ve been out of the country for more than five years, you have to do these courses. The Belgian Government says so and if you don’t do the courses you’re in for a heavy fine.

I have found this hard, good, frustrating, pleasing and highly recommended. The first of these courses is the Inburgerings course. These lessons inform you about your rights as a citizen, where to go for help on various topics and organizations in Belgium and how to use certain social services, such as schooling, and how they operate.

The second of these courses is Nederland lessons. Why? Because you cannot function in Belgium at an appropriate level with at least a basic understanding of the language which glues the Belgian people together – Belgian Nederlands. This course is also paid for by the Belgian government. The only thing I did have to pay for in these courses was one text book – the Nederland language course text book and that was ridiculously inexpensive.

The Application:

This one’s easy. I like routine and can frown and shrug at busses with the best of them.

When my day goes wrong in the early morning, when I forget to put sugar in my coffee or brush my hair before I’ve done my teeth, the day’s a write-off because that delicate routine I love and do every morning has been buggered up. Or at least that’s how I feel. To me that small misstep is utter chaos.

The organization thing I’ll have to work on. My sock & undie drawer is, well, not organized. The only organization in that drawer is that it contains mostly socks & underwear.

To be Belgian, I am going to have to organize that drawer – easy.

So here’s my sock drawer before:

…and here it is post Belgian organization:

You will notice the underwear is to the left, divided into winter and summer wear and closest to the bathroom door as this is the first to be donned. The colourful socks are at the back as required by conclusion by the previous post because colourful items are to be worn sparingly. The socks in the foreground are ordered by shade, lightest to darkest. The items in the utility drawer are items used daily and placed in pockets of the final outfit.

Belg mensen zijn geslote – roughly translated this means Belgians are “closed” people. It’s a strange mixture of shyness and simply being ‘unfriendly’. They keep their emotions and feelings to themselves and expect others to do so to the extent that wearing a bright orange T-shirt could be considered bad manners. Even overly spiced food (any spice at all) is a little too extrovert!

It manifests on public transport like the bus, tram or train where the Belgians prefer to sit by themselves. Sometimes they’d rather stand than sit next to someone occupying a double berth seat. Eventually though, they do give in and begrudgingly sit with the occupant of the seat who in turn puts on their “begrudgingly allowing you to sit” face on.

For me, being a regular on a bus means I’ve caught it consecutively for a week and this, I feel, entitles me to nod politely and smile at the other regulars. This didn’t work.

I guess in Belgium you have to travel on the same bus for a lot longer before you’re a regular and entitled to the same nod and smile. It took four months before I got a slight head squirm and a corner of the mouth spasm attempt at a smile from a regular traveler. I also understand that this was a major feat as the usual time (a measure based on my aunt’s experience as she’s been here years longer than I) is approximately a year for this kind of reciprocal response!

Don’t get me wrong though. Belgians on public transport are the most helpful people I’ve come across. They will help a mother get her stroller and baby on board or on disembarking and I’ve even seen men help a lady lift her daughter out of a wheelchair to get them on and off the bus with no prompting or pleading – they simply jump in and do! Where I come from this is unheard of. People don’t help like that without expecting a gratuity.

Personally I think this “geslote” attitude comes from the big World War II. My Méme used to tell me that you couldn’t trust anyone, even your own neighbor. Anyone could be friendly with the occupying Germans so it was survival to mind your own business and keep your head down. So you help where it’s evident that help’s needed but that’s all. It may sound strange but even now, there are still throwbacks from the 2nd World War. There’s a poster at the station that outlines that there could be delays during the Mechelen Station refurbishment if during the excavations they come across any unexploded World War II munitions!

The Application:

Right, so how do I incorporate this to become Belgian? Well, I’ve always been shy and introvert in person – not so much on blogs and other social media. Okay, so one thing covered then.

When it comes to clothing, I’ll have to review what I wear before I step out the door. Having moved here with my “foreign wardrobe” means I own lots of vibrant and colourful clothing. Instead of that bright orange shirt with the green Hulk cartoon coming at you picture, I need to choose something in grey or black perhaps. If I’m really feeling sassy I can maybe go with white!

I must behave myself on public transport and not smile at fellow Belgian travelers that I may recognize from the day before or (god forbid) sit next to them!

Hmmm. I’m not entirely sure I can do this…urm…entirely. I’m usually quite pleased to see a fellow traveler waiting at the bus stop because that usually means I haven’t missed the bus and the knee-jerk reaction is, well, to smile!

I shall have to practice this Belgian trait and become more “geslote” – just out in public though to ensure the natives aren’t made to feel uncomfortable – I will try my utmost NOT to bring this trait into my home!